


The Three Levels of Horror

by Pacifia



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27412906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Horror, I think, is one of the hardest genres to write. On the screen, or in the theatre, you can simply switch off the lights and make strange noises and spooky sounds like a wolf's howl. What rapid movements and practical stimulus can do for you, like the temperature suddenly dropping, writers struggle with making the readers feel the same with words—the only tool they have. I've always found horror authentic. You can be horrified by something as small as a lizard crawling up your boot. While a stranger following you in a dark hallway gives a different, worse kind of terror. Though horror is one of the unpopular genres both in the cinema and reading community, it helps writers produce more original works. Horror manifests in so many ways around us, that no matter how many novels have been published, authors will always have a new idea: a finger coming out the sink, a severed head tumbling down the stairs, your worst fears coming true, insects the size of a bear, the line between reality and nightmares fading, elevator leading to an evil world. Or more real terrors: stuck in a house with a serial killer, a claustrophobic person locked in a room that's shrinking, a dark shadow following you, a grinning mad-man staring at you as you walk home after buying groceries. Horror is everywhere. You just have to be the one to notice it.**

**As I was working on this story, I realised just how hard it was to jot down my thoughts on paper, show the readers what I am seeing, what the characters are feeling. I didn't know how to give you chills. So, I looked for advice. And I found Stephen King's works. Not that I wasn't familiar with them already, but I had never read horror before. Except for maybe a few short stories. I'm in the middle of reading The Shining and have read so many short stories written by King. In his stories, he shows us the goriest things, the most unreal scenes, things we can't possibly make sense of. For example, in The Moving Finger, Stephen tells us the tale of a man who is made to confront his fear of a finger coming out of his bathroom sink; he uses his wife and the show Jeopardy to intensify the dread and suspense about the main character would face the moving finger. Building up suspense is easier in longer stories and novels. But in short stories, you have to take the reader through it all in limited words, show them what happened in that limited time. There's only so much information you can give them.**

**Now, King says there are three types of horror: The Gross-Out (the first tier), The Horror (the second tier), and The Terror (the last and the worst tier). Albeit I disagree that the horror should stand second, his interpretations do make sense. Too much sense.**

**In his words,** **"The** **3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it's when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: the unnatural, spiders the size of bears, the dead waking up and walking around, it's when the lights go out and something with claws grabs you by the arm. And the last and worse one: Terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It's when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there's nothing there..."**

**The Terror is obviously the worse. But I think for me, gore is worse than horror. Hence, I put it as the second tier. I've used many techniques to show horror, though I don't know if they're that effective: Personification,** **onomatopoeia, suspense, and more. The middle three chapters will each feature one of King's horrors. I hope I haven't failed spectacularly. Read on if you have the heart.**

**And this was beta'd by my cousins!**

OOOOO

**Prologue: The House**

The house makes a cracking sound when Peter steps over the ledge. As if to add to the dramatics, the birds flap their wings in a _whoosh_ and fly away, all at once; the branches tremble. Then a crow caws. Peter actually sighs. Lucy is scared enough as is already, clutching to her sister's sleeve with her curled, blanched hand. When his sister starts sobbing, Peter hops back over the ledge and dashes to her. Taking her from Susan's secure arms, he tucks back her hair and asks lovingly, "What is it, Lu?"

"It's so scary. Why do we have to go? Edmund said a Princess died in it. Long ago. Before the Witch came."

Peter glares angrily at his brother who is currently bumping Dracus' shoulder, joking with him. After a second, Edmund catches the threatening glare, glances at Lucy, deciphers the situation, and shrugs innocently, holding up his hands to emphasize. Then goes back to his joking with his friend. Peter wants to punch his teeth out. But resisting the strong urge, he turns back to his sister, smiling at Susan who has knelt beside her. "Well, Lu, no one can hurt us if we stick together, okay? It's been bothering the Narnians for some time. We have to go."

The twelve-year-old sniffs, and then embraces her big brother, wrapping her thin arms around him. "You won't let anything happen to me?"

"Of course not," Peter says, kissing her temple. Then he draws apart, brushing back her golden strands from her face. "Let's go."

He pulls her up from the ground, lets her stand steadily on her feet, and then takes her hand in his, curling his fingers securely around hers. She smiles, satisfied that she'll have her brother by her side at all times. Peter glances back at his brother who is taking his time in following them into the house, still telling mindless jokes, and laughing thunderously to cause more birds to leave the trees, breaking the oddest silence. Peter _really_ wants to punch his teeth out. They reach the ledge they have to jump over in order to enter the house and Peter picks up his sister by her waist, and hauls her over the ledge. She balances herself on it for a few seconds and then jumps to the other side with grace. Peter has already swung a leg over to the other side when Susan comes up beside him. In a poised voice, she says, "Maybe Lu's right, Peter. Maybe we shouldn't. We could always send someone else. I mean, it _is_ scary."

Before Peter can tell her that they have to since they're the Sovereigns of Narnia and hence have to prove their loyalty and willingness to do anything for their Kingdom, Edmund sweeps over to them with a long stride, laughing. "Oh, I think Peter's brave enough, aren't you, Pete?"

Peter flashes his brother a crooked smile and says, "Of course, Ed. But I doubt you are. And you didn't need to come, Dracus."

Dracus who's hovering a yard away from them shrugs and points at Edmund with a glance of his eyes. "Edmund invited me, King Peter."

Peter grits his teeth, seething internally. Then he allows himself to relax, and smiles. "Yes, of course, Dracus. You're one of our most trusted friends after all." _Who we've known for less than a month._

He then twists, jumps back over the ledge, and takes Lucy's hand again. Lucy giggles, coming closer to him. He looks down at his littlest sister, raising his brows in confusion. Wasn't she scared only a minute ago? "You're so jealous of him," she says, giggling.

Peter finds her words critically wrong. _"What?"_ he exclaims. Very loudly. More birds leave their nests. Then he clears his throat, realizing his siblings and Dracus are staring confusedly at him. He lowers his voice enough for the creaks of the floor to echo. "What do you mean?" he asks, a part of him is pleased that Lucy has been derogated from the creepiness of the place. The air is thin and cold, silent. But Lucy is still giggling.

"It's obvious. You're jealous of Dracus. I would be too if Edmund brought home another little sister." She giggles again, trying to hide her soft chuckles behind the cover of her hand.

They're at the old, yellowing, covered in mosses, cracked from various places, door when Peter says to his sister, "He's not his older brother though, Lu." But when he looks back to see his brother crack another joke, he thinks that might not be true after all. Did he make him angry somehow? Is that why he's been acting so arrogantly? Why did he feel the need to find a second brother? Peter's eyes meet his brother's for a fraction of a second, and Edmund smiles at him like he has so many times before. The reassuring, little brother smile. Innocent yet cheeky. Meaning so many different things that only a brother could understand it. Then Edmund goes back to his casual chat with Dracus. Peter sighs, turning to the door. Susan grabs his hand before he can turn the cobwebbed doorknob.

"Please, Peter, rethink this."

Edmund coughs from behind them, then taps his chest. "Water went down the wrong pipe."

"But you're not drinking any water," Lucy said, tilting her head.

"I did though. An hour ago," Edmund says, huffing.

Peter rolls his eyes, unimpressed by his brother's insolent reply. He turns to his sister, reassuring her with a smile. _"Logic_ says there's nothing supernatural in there. Why are you scared?"

Susan frowns, crossing her arms. "I'm not. I just wish we didn't have to take the risk. There could be anything in there. The fell—"

"We have our swords," Peter supplies, bringing out Rhindon from its sheath, then gesturing at Edmund's and Dracus' swords hanging from their hips. They smile. "There's really nothing to be scared of. Even Lucy isn't afraid anymore, are you, Lu?"

She giggles gleefully, gipping his hand more tightly. "No, Peter. I have you."

"See?" he asks Susan who's still frowning. "Come on, let's go."

And Peter turns the doorknob.


	2. The Horror

As I turn the doorknob, my fingers tickling at the touch of the cobwebs—and is that a spider crawling up? — I feel a shiver creep up my spine, and then bury itself into my neck. When I feel the sharp, pointed ends of the spider prick on my index finger, I shake it off, catching just a glimpse of its six bloody red, blinking, lusting eyes. It gives me an odd feeling, and I stop for a second, breathe out heavily, and continue to creak open the door. The creak seems almost stretched and more echoing once we step inside the house. Lucy quickly rushes to my side, burying her face into my chest, shivering in fear. I spare one glance at Susan who has shifted closer to our younger brother. But Ed seems completely unconcerned, still joking with Dracus, laughing heartily. I shake my head once and then turn back to the long, misty hallway. It's filled with shadows that seem irrationally big.

The length of the hallway extends at least thirty meters in front of us—although guessing in the dark is pointless. From the outside, I did not expect the house to be that large. There is an bizzare green lighting. Throwing dancing, laughing circles on the walls, and I'm inclined to suspect someone lives here. At the thought, my mind cheers up. But not my heart, which still sees only the cobwebbed corners. The sneers that the darkness seems to be giving me. The two gleaming teeth protruding out. I sigh. It seems the dark has scared me, too. Lucy nuzzles even closer and I shush her. My heart pounds as I step in, earning another creak from the floor. It's almost as if it's complaining. I look down and have another odd shiver crawl up my neck. I clear my throat. For the first time, I feel grateful for my brother's stupid jokes and his laughs. They lighten the atmosphere. Assuring me that there might not be any ghosts here after all.

I take another small step, and Lucy walks with me, still shivering. Behind me, I see Susan link her arm with Edmund's, whispering something indistinct in his ear. And I can only assume he answered back because I don't have the time to observe. My head turns instinctively to the sound of _whoosh!_ A transcending fear dawns on me.

The others seem oblivious to this. I gulp. On my left and right side, corridors extend also, just as eerie and dark and alive as the one we're heading in. The left one is so dark I can't possibly determine how long it is. How far into the hellish darkness it stretches. Its wooden, tiled floor spreads into the black, and it seems to stare back at me. I'm relieved that's not where we're heading. The green circles suddenly appear there, too, dancing on the black, grinning walls. Some parts are burned, some showing odd patches. I don't dare assume it's anything other than algae. I turn back to my brother. He, finally, has stopped to look around, taking in the apparitional image.

"Ed?"

Edmund casually quirks his eyebrows at me. "Yeah?"

I stare once out of the open door and frown to see that dusk has already crept through the land, rendering it dark. The sky was pinkish when we entered but it was twinkling with stars now. "You didn't happen to bring a torch with you? Or a lantern?" I add, though I notice that his hands are empty. Unless he can magically make the items appear, I doubt his answer would be positive. He shakes his head to effectively confirm my suspicion. And I turn back. The green circles have disappeared, and I wonder if it was only a trick of the moon's light reflecting. Or my mind's. I look back, all eyes turn to me. I shake my head, dismissing the idea, and turn to face the corridor stretching in front of us. Without the dull, green light, the place is even darker, the shadows even bigger, almost appearing to mock me. Hands rubbing. Growing bigger. Stretching up to the wall. Blanketed by the darkness. Red eyes jeering. And wrinkled mouths curled into menacing grins. I blink. It's only the dark now. I feel embarrassed all of a sudden. It seems that the High King of Narnia is afraid of the dark.

"You know, Pete, we could always go back. If you're scared," my brother says and I feel the urge to throttle him. Thankfully, the fear dissolves in the anger and I give him a glare. I can't be sure he noticed it in the dark. I can hardly see him myself. Susan's voice echoes from my left. And I'm startled.

"Maybe we _should_ turn back. It's dark already."

I pull Lucy a little closer, caressing the back of her hair, and reply, "There's nothing to be scared of, Su."

"Just the dark," Lucy mutters, hiding her face into my side again.

Edmund's giggles echo off the black walls, and I'm horrified to even think what could amuse him at such a time. "And the Princess' ghost."

"Edmund!" Susan and Dracus both scold. I don't bother.

"Let's go," I say.

And we begin to venture deeper.

The walls are doorless, or if there are some doors that we may have missed, we can blame that on the darkness. The wind howls in my ears as it coldly soughs past. And I almost panic when I hear the door bolt shut behind me. None of the others seems remotely concerned. They seem to think we can always open it again. But I, not knowing why, am not so sure. No windows line the walls either. And with the door shut, it is almost completely dark. But since I can see my brother's grinning mouth, I have to wonder where the moonlight is coming from. From the roof, my mind whispers. And I gaze up. An almost divine, little squared window allows the moon to spill in, and light the dark house, brighten the walls, that I dare not look at, afraid that I might find out what the red patches really are. Deathlike silence stretches between us, and my heart thumps in my chest.

Eager to make some conversation, I say in rhythm with my creaking steps, "So, what's the plan?"

I hear my brother huff. I can almost imagine the amused look he gives Dracus. I _can_ hear the shoulder bump. Lucy whispers something to me, but I can't make out her words with the anger seething in me. "You're the High King, Peter, aren't you? You should know. You're the one who led us out here."

I can hear the unsaid words, "And it'll be your fault if something happens."

Susan's calm words snap me out of my thoughts. "We just search the house, if we find something threatening, we neutralize it, and if something friendly, we can shake hands, and thank the Lion."

I smile at my sister, turning to my left. But my smile vanishes. Fear creeps up. It's a nail. A black claw. Long. Wiggling in anticipation. Creeping up her silken shoulder. Brushing past her hair. Crawling beneath it. Scratching the fabric in a _rustle, rustle._ Time slows. And another one reveals itself. Longer than the first one. Darker. Wrinkled and scratched. It joins its friend and continues the grating. I only blink. Feeling trapped in a trance. I expect another finger, another pointed, black nail. But white shines in the grey light. It's raising up, slowly. A circle. Imperfect around the edges. Red and bulgy. Popped out of its socket. The red nerves seeming to spread nearer and nearer to the darkest pupil. It rises above her shoulder. And the grinning mouth comes into view. The half-torn lips move.

I can hear it sing, _Suuuusaaaan_.

I blink. Someone is shaking my shoulder, giving it a gentle shove. I blink twice more, tracing the arm to find its owner's face. I flinch away from Dracus. I turn to Susan. She's frowning at me, looking unsettled and perturbed. "Are you alright? You phased out there."

I blink again, not understanding what had happened. Lucy tugs at my sleeve. I glance down at her. "Peter? Did you…did you see it, too?"

Oh, Aslan, no. I would rather be mad than have a real threat dangling over my siblings. Because I led them here. My lungs ache for air as I forget to breathe in my panic. But Edmund's warm hand on my shoulder is enough to bring me back, keep me from drowning. No matter how annoyed I am with my brother at the moment, I cannot deny only he can calm me at such a time. "Peter? You should go back. Really, not as a joke. If you think there's a ghost hovering around, I and Dracus could—"

I whip around, ready to really throttle him this time. "Listen here, you—"

"Peter!" Susan yells. I turn to her. Her face has gone pale, not an ounce of colour, white like the eyeball. I shake myself and quirk an eyebrow at her. In a quavering voice, she asks, "Where's Lucy?"

I instinctively look down, where I held her only seconds ago. But the warm presence beside me is gone. I begin panicking again.

"Lucy!" Edmund bellows, cupping his mouth. He turns to me once, yanking Dracus ahead by his arm. "She can't have gone far; we'll search for her."

It takes my mind time to understand what he says, and as they begin trekking forward, Susan grabs his wrist, bringing him to a halt. "We can't split up. Please, Edmund, we can't."

Edmund looks ready to argue. I stand frozen in my place, still recovering from the shock that I had lost my littlest sister. Oh, Lucy. But before Ed can say anything, Dracus comes up beside him, his silhouette gliding past my brother. "She's right. Queen Susan, but maybe I could go. We can't risk your safety but—"

Susan holds up her hand. "No. We go together. Come on." She looks at me. "Peter?" I stand frozen. I feel sweat drip down my temple. But my feet are unmovable. "Peter!" I can't. I can't have lost her. A slap echoes. And I blink, realizing my cheek is burning. "Listen to me. It wasn't your fault. We'll find her. We will."

I wipe my eyes and nod.

It could have been Aslan's grace. Or just dumb luck. But before we can even start moving, I hear, "Peter!"

And oh, that sweet, golden voice is music to my ears. A heavenly tune. Seraphic. I want her to keep saying my name. Keep telling me she's there. "Peter! Peter!"

And her shadow glows in the moonlight. And I feel her crash into my chest, her arms wrapped around my waist. I hug her back, trying to still my shaking hands. "Lu—Lucy?"

"I saw her!" she bellows. "I saw the Princess!"

Before I can comfort her, assure myself further she's really there, Edmund begins laughing. It's a small snicker. Just a chuckle. But anger still fills me to the brim. "Lucy, oh Lu, it was just a story. I really think you and Peter should head back. You don't have the—"

His words are cut off and my sisters gasp as I yank him back by his collar, throwing him against the wall. Enough is enough. I throw him again, mentally wincing to hear the loud thump. He groans and I crash him once more against the black wall, feeling the dark patch burst open. But I pin him there with my arm against his throat, and spit out, "Something is wrong with you."

He only groans.

"She's your sister!" I grab his face, forcing him to look at me. "Was it me? What did I do? How can you? You little brat, you're going back to your real self, aren't you? You tra—"

"Peter!" Lucy stops me before I can utter the one horrible word.

What I had almost said…

I release my brother, making him groan even more. I cannot hold back my tears. I had hurt him. I had hurt my little brother. He drops to the ground. I try to reach for him, but he flinches away. It hurts me tremendously to see Dracus finally help him to his feet; he gives me a look. Edmund doesn't meet my eyes after that.

"Peter, please," Lucy sobs, clutching to me. I'd scared her. I'd scared myself.

I close my eyes, breathing heavily. Apparitional silence stretches, phantom-like whispers echo in my ears as I try to force my thoughts into some semblance of order. My throat goes dry. My eyes are almost reluctant to open. But I force them to. I glance around. Lucy is still clutching to me. Edmund is conversing in hushed tones with Dracus who seems worried. My little brother never looks at me. I wince internally. Then I furrow my brows, looking around.

The whisper leaves me terrified, but I say, "Where's Susan?"

A singing voice answers me, _Suuuusaaaan._ No, no, no.

"Susan!"

It mocks, _Suuuusaaaan._

Edmund finally looks at me, concern evident on his face.

I'm sobbing. But it sings again, _Suuuusaaaan._

I feel utterly lost.


	3. The Gross-out

_Suuuusaaaan,_ I can still hear the sinister, almost bony voice. Screechy. As if coming from a corpse's throat. A shriek barely escaping a dying man's lips. A dog's cry. A mad-man's laugh. And it's saying my sister's name. My sister whom I have lost. My head starts spinning as the panic swallows me whole again.

And then.

 _Scratch, scratch, scritchy-scratch_ , something echoes. My skin crawls and shrinks. The blood in my fingers recedes and I feel them buzz. My ears are still ringing with _scritch_ -scratch. I kneel and cover my head with both my hands, bending, crawling away on all fours from the never ending _scratch_. But it follows me. _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch_. Always there. Always. My breath hitches. My chest feels too heavy. Fright rising up in my breast. Heart beating ferociously. _Scritchy-scratch_. My hands crush my skull as I press them harder onto my ears. I can't! I can't take it!

"Peter!" My brother's blanched face is staring at me; chocolate eyes concerned and fixed on me. He looks perplexed. But worried more than anything. I blink through my tears, utterly confused. "Peter? Can you hear me?" my brother asks, waving his hand in front of me. I manage to give a shaky nod. Eidolic silence stretches for some deathly seconds, and the darkness spreads to me, crawling inside me. Ed presses a hand on my chest, then my throat, then my sweaty forehead. "Pete?"

I only crush him to me. The terror has engulfed me. And if Ed leaves. If he leaves, I'll—

Where am I?

Still in the wretched corridor. My sister still missing. Dracus holding Lu close in a corner as she tears up to see me so scared. I only hide my face into my brother's shoulder, unable to shake the dread. Edmund is rubbing my back, shushing me. "Pete?"

"It was there! The voice. The scratching sound," I say between hiccoughing breaths. I hiccup between my sobs again.

"There was never a sound, Peter. We need to find Susan. But first, I think I need to get rid of my shirt." Ed's voice grows amused. And he pulls apart despite my fierce struggles to keep him close. "You pushed me really hard, Pete. You really hurt me," he says, sliding one sleeve off his arm, reminding of my terrible malevolence. I blink at his smiling face. I glance at Dracus and Lucy who have stepped too far for me to see their faces. Just the uncertain silhouettes. Their dark, hovering figures. But the two could be anyone. Could be the eyeball's owner. The frightful voice. The split apart lips. "And what I struck. Do you want to know what it was? Let's check, shall we?"

And the shirt glides off him. "Oh, that's a mess," he says, holding the shirt parallel to his face, glancing at its back with a wrinkled nose.

"See, Peter?" he says, flipping the shirt. Showing me. I flutter my eyes. The red lines, the smudges are staring at me, jeering me.

I stand baffled.

I don't know what to make of this.

"Did I scare you?"

I only blink at my brother again. Then at the red word painted on his shirt. _Fooled._

"Wha—what?" I say, blinking repeatedly.

"Fooled," my brother says, his eyes growing suddenly a bloody red. It drips down from his lashes, trickling down his cheeks. "And fooled again."

And two bone-thin arms grab my waist. They pull me into the red room.

* * *

The door slams shut with a thunderous _bang!_ My stomach still feels squished. The narrow pressure. The thin arms still have me in their grasp. One digs its nail into me, and I screech. Then they pull me further in. _Whoosh!_ The wind lashes past me as we fly to the corner of the room. I crash into the wall. I hear my ribs _crack_ and _snap._ But I feel no pain in the fear. I keep sobbing, groaning at the same time. "Please, please," I beg.

And the arms hear my plea. I feel them loosen. _Scritch._ The fingers scratch my tunic once, grating over, then they _rustle_ against each other as they untangle. And then I hear a _thump._ No. Two _thumps._ My heart begins racing. I dare not look back. My breaths shudder and the red walls stare back at me as I start to move ahead. Towards the door. Ed. Lucy. Susan. I have to get back to my siblings. I reach the door and am instantly trying to pull it open.

"Don't go," the softest voice echoes through the room. It shoots off the bloody walls and then howls again in my ears.

" _Please_ don't go," it insists. The muffled sob reaches me, and I slowly uncurl my stiff, half-frozen fingers from the resistant knob. _Cham, cham, munch._ I can hear her teeth digging. The _crunch. Munch-munch._ My heart is in my mouth. My lungs shrinking as my breathing stops. "I promise I'll be nice."

"No…Please…" I whisper, tears stinging sharply in my eyes. _Munch._ "No!" I say. I have never felt as lonely as I do now. As if even the air has inched away from me. Only the girl. Only her chewing is with me. In the cold. In the red, I stand alone. Utterly alone. My hands shake as I try to find a cloak that isn't there. I blow out a misty breath, shivering, my teeth are clattering. _Munch!_

I wince, and gulp, feeling the cold creep up.

"Won't you turn?" _Munch. Cham-crunch!_ "It's delicious."

"No…" I choke out. "Please. Aslan, please."

 _"Turn!"_ she screams in a horrifying voice, plain yet loud enough to make my ears ring. I don't turn. My limbs are frozen. Feet attached to the ground. I am _so_ alone. I want my siblings. I need my siblings! _Munch, crunch, crunch._ "Won't you like some of it?" _Om-nom,_ she muffles out, savouring her meal. Her _meal._ Oh, Aslan, please. Please help me. "If you won't turn…"

And something grabs my frozen leg. I scream a dying wail as I try to stumble away on one foot. But the hands don't let me go, the thin, skeletal fingers scratching my trousers, calling me down to them. The two arms. White, splattered with slime and spit. The cuts infected and puss-filled. The red-whip marks shining. The flaying marks clear. The arms fly back, dragging me down on the cold, blood-pooled ground. They drag me through the blood, making my lips taste some of it. My hands slide through the pool, feeling the warm liquid. I spit the blood out. Gagging. Crying. The bloodied ends of my hair fall like needles over my eyes. And I'm rendered blind. My foot is numb with pain. The nails have dug deep enough to form holes, making blood seep out. My mouth is salty, my eyes red with the blood dripping from my hair. My chest hurts with the scraps I've acquired. The fingers leave my ankle. I go limp on the ground, gasping. They crawl up my calf, circling over my knee, as if testing. Up my thigh.

And then stop.

My eyes open. I'm standing on our front porch, waving dad goodbye as he leaves for work again. I blink when the babe in my arms giggles. I sit down on the step. The stairs are steep. Some steps are crooked. But I'm careful enough. Old enough. The babe giggles again, wrapping his small palm around my finger. He grips it tight, looking at with his black eyes. He giggles again. I tap his nose with my free hand, then kiss him again. I rock him gently in my arms. Kissing his cheek again, I allow myself to feel warm. Not lonely. Not cold. Not scared.

I feel warm and safe.

Something splashes on my face. Little drops speckled. I flutter my eyes open. The babe is gone. My mouth is coppery. And the stairs—

The steps are painted in crimson.

Wide pools of blood trailing down the steps, as if painting a white canvas. My eyes follow the trail. Seeing smudges and dark spots. Then I see him. Still wrapped in the red blanket, the lips still juicy red, black eyes showing through the small slits. He isn't blinking. Isn't crying. The wrist is clearly broken. The hilt of the knife staring at me. I just scream.

_Munch-crunch._

I blink, huddling in the corner, knees drawn to my chest, chin propped up on them.

_Cham, cham, crunch._

I'm soaked in blood. I run my hands over my face, only to draw more red smudges. She's staring at me as she feeds. The meat _crunches_ again. And she devours it with a muddled sound of _nom._ I hold my breath hopes to avoid throwing up. I strip off my shirt, hoping to get rid of at least some of the blood. _Munch._

She smiles at me as she chews. The flesh crawls out of her mouth. Blood dripping out like juice being squeezed from a fruit. She takes another bite. Her teeth strike the bone, but she scrapes off some of it. My mind is numb with fear. I don't even know what I'm seeing. _Munch!_ She smiles at me, flashing her black, rotten teeth. "Would you like a bite?" she asks. Her hollow eye-sockets penetrating through me. She extends her hand towards me, offering me a bite.

Offering me a bite of her hand.

The fingers have been chewed off like a rat chews fabric. The bones half-scraped, broken, dangling by their hinges. It's her wrist she's feeding on now.

She smiles again. She would blink if she had eyes. Her black, red hair hides her from my view. She growls and leans down, her wrist breaking to pieces as it crashes onto the ground.

I flinch back but she's already crawling on all fours. Hands and knees sliding swiftly on the blood. Like an insect. With her crooked knees and bent elbows, she slides towards me.

Faster and faster.

And faster!

I close my eyes.

And scream.

"Peter! Peter, wake up!"

I won't. I won't open my eyes. I refuse to see her face. I refuse to taste her blood. I refuse to feel the hot liquid soak up to my chest. I refuse!

"Peter, please!"

I scream again, jerking, convulsing, thrashing. A soothing hand caresses my cheek. It's not wet and hot with blood. Not sticky and slimy. Not bloody. Not half eaten.

"Peter, I promise no one will hurt you. Please, it was just a joke!"

Her smooth hair brushes past my face. My face. It's not covered in blood.

"Peter?"

I finally dare to open my eyes, see through my stinging vision. Sunlight pours in through my eyelids. The brightness blinds me. But as my eyes adjust, I blink. The figure sharpens. The yellow smudge distinguishing as her beautiful hair. Her fair skin. Her reassuring eyes. There's not a trace of blood. I blink again, confused and scared.

"I promise it's alright. It's okay. I swear. I swear to you," she says benevolently, stroking back my hair. I almost tell her to not touch me. I'm filthy. I'm soaked in blood. But she doesn't seem to mind. "It was just a joke, Peter. Ed didn't mean any harm."

I don't understand her words. "Lu?" I ask, trying to convince myself of her presence. Her warm, angelic presence.

"It's okay. I promise."

The wooden tiles beneath me are stiff. Realising my back is aching, I slowly sit up. Lucy helps me settle against the wall. The large windows on the opposite wall fill the corridor with warmth and light. I glance up at the ceiling. The small window is still there. It's the same house. The same wretched house. Lucy is rubbing my arm. I turn to my little sister. "Lucy, wha—what happened?"

"Edmund had this stupid idea. It's Halloween, Peter. Remember? In the Other Place, England, I mean, we always used to celebrate it a week after Ed's birthday. Remember?"

I nod my head. "A little. Yes. Lu—"

"Hush," she says. "Ed wanted to scare you. I didn't know! I swear I didn't. Su and Dracus did."

"Susan. Su's okay?" I ask, voice trembling as I recall what had happened. _Suuuusaaaan,_ it had sung.

"Yes. Yes, she's fine. She was hiding in a closet," Lucy says, still rubbing my arm.

"But the thing. The voice…"

"Ed got some help from the Narnians, Peter. It was a Marshwiggle, you see." I blink. I know what a Marshwiggle is. I do. But I can't recall. My mind still feels numb. "But then you fainted and oh, Peter, Ed wouldn't stop crying."

"Eddie." He'd died. The baby had died. "Where is he?"

"He and Dracus are telling the Narnians you're alright. Susan went to get you some water when you began dreaming."

"Dr—dream? A dream?"

"Nightmare, by the looks of it," Lucy says, sitting beside me, against the wall. "You looked really scared, Peter. What did you see?"

I shake my head. My throat closes up as the sight flashes before my eyes. She's grinning now, her lips mushy. Blood squeezing out of them. I give myself a shake. "Nothing," I say in a quavering voice.

When Lucy begins standing up, I grab her wrist, tugging her down. She bends before me, stroking my cheek once. "I promise I'll be back soon. I just have to go tell Ed and Su."

She begins moving away, but I don't let her go. "Lu, please…"

"Back in a minute," she assures. My fingers leave her wrist, brushing past her once. And she runs off to the end of the corridor, where the wooden door stands ajar. She shuts it behind her, blocking my view of the forest. I had caught just a glimpse of my brother. He's alive. We are all safe. Safe and warm.

But my chest hurts. It hurts too much. Burning. My eyes close in the pain. And a hand cups my face.

"Won't you open your eyes? You've slept long enough. Your brother is looking for you. And that minion of his. But I don't think they'll find you in time. Look what happened to you sisters."

She grabs my face, digging her nails into my cheeks. I open my eyes. Just a narrow slit. My sisters. They're—

"Hanged, yes. But I'll have my fun with you," she says, grinning menacingly. A mad-man's grin. Her white teeth shines against her black, wavy hair. The scar stretches from her forehead to her chin, going over her eye. "You shouldn't have come here. Susan warned you, didn't she? If only you'd been clever enough to listen. Poor, poor you."

And she draws another cut on my chest with her serrated knife, completing the word.

"It's pretty, isn't it? The name? Jadis," she says, admiring her work with one eye. I only sob. The dread crashing into my chest. The pain lost in the fear. Warm tears slide down my cheek as I weep, jerking with my sobs. Why? Oh, Aslan, why?

And then, "Peter! Peter!" echoes my brother's voice somewhere down below. I only cry harder, my lids pressing onto my eyes. He's so _far_. _So_ far.

"They'll be too late," she says, letting my blood drip on from my chest onto her palm. She drinks some of it. "That's good. That's delicious. No. Scrumptious. You're my best meal in years."

 _"Peter!"_ my brother screams desperately.

They'll be too late.

Too late.


	4. The Terror

My eyes slowly fluttered open, and hazed as I was, the brightened figures in front of me with their luminous surfaces only seemed perturbing to me. I felt like a trapped bird, suffocating in the thin air. Or an insect crawling desperately on the mud. A bubble floating to the gurgling face of the water. Everything felt so distant and I was lost in the clamor of the raucous thumping of feet on the ground. One set of eyes blinked, flying to me, judging as my muscles twitched and my lashes fluttered with the increase in light. A raised hand set off many motions at once. The figures dispersed, the cluster disappeared, and the curtains were drawn, which I wanted to thank the figures for. My pupils dilated in the dimmed light and someone clasped my hand with theirs, rubbing my knuckles with their fingers. I felt, at once, an intense feeling of tranquil and ease.

I felt a warm, feather-light kiss on my forehead.

"You'll get better," my brother said, smiling as my eyes met his.

And then, once again, darkness rushed in.

* * *

"You'll get better," she says, "once you drink this. Promise."

_'…Promise.'_

The cuts on my chest burn ferociously once again; I can feel the heat emitting from them, the blood oozing and releasing slowly, dripping into the bowl set in front of my dangling feet. The sharp end of the quill scratches over my skin once again, tearing the white to draw red. But there's no pain. No pain to distract me from the much worse fear. The dread engulfing me is what causes me to weep. Not the pain. I am numb to physical agony. I feel, endure, sense the very depth of the mental torture I've been put under.

"It's delicious, isn't it? The spider," she says, stirring the soup with a ladle, igniting fumes, sprinkling what I hope is salt in it.

_'…The spider!'_

Just as she turns, flashing her black teeth in an obscene grin, the door kicks open with a _snap!_

I drift into the realm of dreams again.

* * *

"Peter. Peter. Brother, please."

My weary eyes take time to adjust to the dull lighting, and I barely register the touch when Edmund sweeps a hand over my forehead, looking for any signs of fever, I assume. Ed's warm hands cup my face, brushing my disheveled hair. I, dazed, only blink at him, unmoving the whole time. A voice speaks up from my left. I begin seething again.

"He's fine?"

"No fever. I've already given him the cordial. The girls?"

A nervous shuffling of feet. "They've escaped, but the Vri, they could be lurking around in the forest."

"My sisters are smart, Dracus. They'll be fine."

I lick my lips, trying to suck in another breath, let my vocal cords flutter, and help me find my voice. It's hoarse from screaming, but I murmur, "Lu and Su…they're…"

"They're alive. She lied to you, Peter. Poisoned you. You're fine now."

_'…Just fine.'_

"The girl…" I choke.

"Nightmares. That's it. Just hallucinations. You're alright," Edmund says, catching my exhausted upper body by my shoulders, steadily reeling me towards him until I am settled against his chest, breathing heavily. "Now, Peter, we…"

"Edmund," says an alarmed voice, reminding me that Dracus is here, too. He's still _here._ Stubbornly, obstinately, _shamelessly_ here! I want to tell him to leave. But the alarm and urgency in his voice grows, though it goes almost unheard when even the wind's lash surpasses the volume of his voice, "It's here. I can hear its clicking."

_Its clicking?_

"Ed?" I question him, letting my head drop on his arm. He pulls me up, gathering me a little more securely against his chest.

He whispers to me, voice almost inaudible, a mere murmur, "Don't talk. Don't move. It's a Vris," he tells me, "they're blind creatures."

"Then…"

But he shushes me, glances once at Dracus who grips his sword's silver, gleaming hilt a little more tightly. "It can sense even the slightest movements. The lowest of breaths. The quietest of voices," he whispers close to my ear, making it twinge in the zephyr, "Dracus and I barely got by them. They're hideous creatures, Pete. Although we haven't really seen them. They're always so dark. But their hands, they're claws, sharp as a knife, skin as hard as a reptile's. And they click." I gulp, ready to ask him what he means. But he continues, "Their tongue comes out and they make the most horrendous noises, Peter. A constant clatter _._ They click when they sense something. Sense prey. They don't feed on Carrion. I've seen them, seen them devour…" here he hesitates, swallowing, "…a leopard they caught. Oh, Peter, the wails, the cries, they'll haunt me even in the grave."

"Edmund, it's close. What do we do?"

"Escape if we can. If not, then we fight. If we can survive the night, Susan and Lucy will come back with more forces. We can defeat them in the light. When we can see them," Edmund replies, and then I feel his chin slide over my hair as he turns his head again. His chin presses onto my scalp, digs in, as he glances down at me. "Can you try and move, Pete?"

I nod weakly and Ed slips an arm around my shoulders, holding me in a tight grip as I slowly straighten my legs and stand up, swaying uncontrollably. Another hand grabs my arm. Not recognizing the touch as my brother's, I instantly flinch away, giving Dracus a start. My brother and he exchange a somber glance. And when the darkness faded to the silver-light pouring in through the little window on the ceiling, I lean away from my brother, confident that I can stand straight. Edmund puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me once but I tell him I'm fine.

"Rhi—"

Edmund cuts me off, putting a strong hand over my mouth. I stop breathing. Then, when he's sure I understand, he lets me go. He makes a wavy motion with his hands and then crosses his fingers to form a cross. Then curls his hand into a fist. I understand at once, _It's with the girls. Trust me._ Then he makes scissor-like motions with both his hands, claps them silently, and then join them together as if praying. _We have to move. Silently. Together._ His fingers tangle again as he brings his hands together. Then points at Dracus and me. I shake my head in defiance. I motion at all three of us, joining my hands, clasping them together firmly.

Dracus, who's only getting snippets of the conversation, risks saying, "I'll distract it. And you can—"

Edmund has already denied it. "We go together."

I blink, unsatisfied that my brother is not seeing the obvious logical solution. "But Ed…"

Edmund looks at me furiously. "I know. I know you _despise_ him, but no, Peter, I'm not letting him die for us. I'm not letting him die at all," he fulminates. I am reluctant to agree, but nod nevertheless. Edmund nods back at me, and then at Dracus, glancing at the floor, his gaze almost penetrating through it. He points to his left, and tells me with another wave of his hands, that that's where the stairs are. But before we can even move, there comes the most horrible sound.

_Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka_

An alligator's clicking. Or the night bug's crying. A squirrel's wail. But a million times more horrendous. It reverberates through the corridor, striking off the hideous, patched walls to vibrate in the hollow air and then ring brutally in our ears. The absolute intensity of the horrid sound never lessened, with every strike, it grew louder, until our ears started bleeding and it abruptly vanished from the air. In the sound's fear and daze, I almost lose my footing, but my brother's arm steadies me. He tells me to hold my breath with another silent motion of his fingers and then goes as still as a statue himself. _Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka, t_ he disturbing sound echoes again, shooting off the walls. But neither Dracus nor Ed move. Edmund only glances at me, his irises moving to the corner of his eyes.

And I cease any movement in my muscles. Only the shallow beating of my heart remains.

The clouds above fly away, and the full moon suddenly shines brightly through the little window, illuminating the corridor with silver. And with the light spreading, crawling slowly along the floor, showing me the enormous amount of blood pooled on it, it strikes the stairs' crooked railing. The cuts and flays and smears. And then a clawed hand scrapes the wood off it, forming a curling circle, as it glides forward, towards the orb that marks the stairs' end. It taps it. Once. Twice. Thri—

It stops halfway. The claw turns, rotating, twisting until it's directly pointing at us. Now, I can't breathe even if I want to. The Claw scratches the thumb once and then three more nails swipe up the orb. And then it comes into view. Silver striking off the flying black robe. It's completely hidden beneath it. Except its head. Its burnt, eyeless head. There are no hollow sockets. Burnt, blackened skin covers the space. I don't even imagine what the rest of it looks like. Its feet look exactly like its hands. Just bent backwards. The fingers face the wall. And the ankle us.

Dracus lets out one shuddering breath. I blink. And the Vris is sniffing, crawled down, feeling Dracus' feet with its mouth. I glance at my brother without moving my head. Ed shuts his eyes, making a silver tear fall, pure and undefiled, onto the ground. _Plop,_ it ripples through the air. I make the mistake of blinking again, and the Vris' hairless head is staring at me as it sniffs, circling my brother, nuzzling its half-cut nose into his knee. I shake the urge to vomit, moving up my irises to get a look at my brother. He's praying. Without knowing, my lips move in sync with his.

 _'Aslan, our King, our Lord, we are Thine, in life and in death. If such fate must strike us, take us_ _in Thy care, take us in Thy paws, in Thy cradle of life. Lion, we beg Thou, accept us, Thy chosen ones. Take us from this world and into Yours, should we ever meet the lady Death.'_

And he looks at me, mouthing, "Go."

The Vris slides up his leg, its claws grating over his tunic. _Scritch-scratch._

"Go, please," Edmund begs when the Vris slides further up, the claw on his chest now, the nose breathing in my brother's scent. And its tongue slips out of its mouth, brushing past its hundreds of teeth.

_Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka_

Edmund breathes.

"No!" I yell simultaneously. The Vris leaps at me, blind, and guided only by my voice. I dodge it once easily, jumping to my left, near to my brother who has already unsheathed Vera. And then once again, everything goes still. Dracus hasn't moved an inch. But he's closest to the Vris. And the creature brings out its tongue again, flapping its robe behind it. Dracus can see it whole. It rapidly circles him once, and hisses when it brushes past the sharp blade of his sword.

Dracus is shaking with sobs, racking sobs.

"Peter. Peter, no," Ed whispers to me, his eyes fixed on Dracus and the Vris now slowly rising up, licking his trousers.

"Shh…" I tell him, slowly crouching down. I warily pull out my dagger from my boot. Then rise up once again. The Vris is hovering right in front of Dracus now, shifting from side to side, unseeing, only listening. But Dracus is utterly still. Not breathing anymore. With a glance of his eyes, he accepts it, noticing the dagger in my hand. I wince at the grave yet noble face. Envious of a commoner? I? A King? Not anymore. And the dagger flies out of my hand.

_Clinkkkkkkk…_

So many things happen at once that it's a blur for me. The Vris jumps on Dracus, its claw digs into him, and then its hand drives through to come out from the other side. Edmund screams—or tries to scream, but I've already grabbed him, reeling him towards me, holding him tightly, my hand mercilessly pressing onto his mouth. He struggles but I settle down against the wall, pinning his legs down with mine, his arms with my arm, and stop him from screaming with a hard hand planted onto his mouth. He keeps thrashing against me, his muffled screams cut off, as the Vris feels for its prey and then begins dragging a screaming Dracus to the stairs.

"Hush, Ed. Just hush," I whisper to my brother, holding him closer, pinning him. But he's still screaming silently, struggling desperately against me. _No, no, no, no, no…_ he keeps repeating, hitting me with his elbows, but I grab his hands with mine, clasping them together, rendering him motionless.

And when Dracus' bloody hand disappears behind the railing of the stairs, I let my brother go.

That was a mistake.

He already has Vera pointed at my throat, shaking with tears, but stiffened in sheer fury. "You monster."

_'…Brother.'_

"Ed?"

"You're a monster."

I stand up, the blade doesn't leave my skin, rising up with my neck. Edmund moves closer, elbow bending as he holds the blade in place, drawing blood already. "You killed him."

"I saved us," I correct. "And he'd accepted it. He told me to do it."

"You're not my brother," he says with conviction. And I believe him. "I would kill you. Oh, I want to kill you. But for my sisters, I'll take you back."

_'…For Lucy.'_

Edmund brings down his sword, looking at me in utter disgust. Dracus' horrible, tortured screams echo from down below, and Edmund's muscles tense, he looks away, shutting his eyes, making more tears squeeze out.

"Ed?" I try, my voice still hoarse and shaken.

"Don't. We go down the stairs and then…"

His eyes widen, his mouth hangs open, blood rises up in his throat and drips out rapidly. The claws wriggle and Edmund jerks once when the Vris twists its hand in him, and then pulls him with it, going faster than the wind into the door behind them. _Slam!_ it closes. All in only two seconds.

I blink, stepping forward.

"Ed?"

I take another step forward, towards the door. "Edmund?"

"Eddie?" I try, sliding my hand over the door's rough surface. The scraped wood cuts my fingers, digging almost to the bone. I don't understand.

"Edmund!"

A raw scream answers me.

 _"Edmund!"_ I scream, slamming my fists onto the door. "Edmund!"

Another scream. More animalistic.

I kick the door, bang my fists on it, try to cut it open with Vera. But it doesn't budge. "Edmund!"

He has stopped screaming.

I sink to my knees, hard, erratic gasps escaping my lips. I knock on the door twice. "Ed?" No reply comes. "Edmund…" I say, crying, jerking with my sobs.

"Take me too."

"Please."

"I—"

"Oh, Aslan."

**_"EDMUUUUND!"_ **


	5. Epilogue

Peter sat there, waiting for the Vri to come again, and take him. He sat there as the moon slowly dissolved into the western, gloaming sky, and a touch of pink hue shone through the divine window above. He sat there in his grief, feeling the utter loss, until—until what? He'd lost his brother, he killed his brother's dearest friend, and he had two options left: Cry or scream.

He chose the latter.

* * *

The touch comes first when he groans. The soft, feathery stroke on his forehead, cold and warm at the same time, giving him peace. And when his lips and tongue burn and itch for water and he licks his lips once, the touch comes back, along with a metallic, hard touch on his lips. He takes a sip. Not water; it's bitter. Then he sleeps once more. When his eyes open and then instantly the lids shut again in the brightest light of the sun, the same touch helps him drift off again.

And when, days later or only hours, the light has dimmed, and a fire is alit in the marble hearth that he so heartily recognizes, his lashes flap open. He's staring at the white, carved with delicacy, ceiling. His head hurts to stare at it that long, but he can't look away, for it tells him he is safe. In his home, his wonderful, _wonderful_ home, filled with light and warmth. The touch on his forehead comes back and he snaps his head to his side, temple digging into the pillow, to see Lucy. And the flood of memories, of haunting memories, swallow him. The blood-filled mouth of his brother, the wriggling claws, the torn skin, the broken bones, the reptile-like hand. He screams.

He screams harder than he thinks he should've been able to with his aching throat, and covers his ears with his hands, flinching away—away from the terror, from the Vri! The Vri!

"Peter!" someone distantly echoes, but he can only hear their clicking. The horrible sounds. _Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka,_ they sing. The Vri had taken his brother! "Peter!" He continues to scream, still flinching away from the shouting voice. It's familiar, but he doesn't recognize it. The hollow sound of the constant clatter envelopes him again. He feels his arms being pinned down, mercilessly throwing him onto the bed, as he continues his screaming, sobbing, twisting against the hands of his captors. They were going to take him! The Vri! But then he eased, remembering his wish to die, _feeling_ his wish to die. He allows himself to die. But the sharp pain is not in his chest where the Vris must have plunged its hand, but in his arm. He winces in the sharp pain.

Then the noises subsided when his sister's voice echoed through the room again. His bleary, tired eyes are slowly drooping close. Everything has slowed; his sister's figure slowly—very slowly—moves towards him, shifting to her sides, hovering above like a phantom. Then he feels the cool touch on his forehead again. He relaxes. His sister gathers him in her arms, lifting him halfway up from the bed. And whispers to him, "You were hurt, Peter. You'd been—"

"Eddie," is the only word he has the strength to say, the will and need to say.

"You are fine now, Peter," she cooes, "they won't hurt you anymore."

Peter sobs. "Ed."

"Just sleep. Sleep and we can talk about it in the morning. We'll talk."

* * *

It's Susan that's holding him this time when he wakes. Peter's weeping into her shoulder again, somehow he'd withheld his screams. The sharp pain in his arm comes back. He lets out a small squeak and Susan shushes him. "Just sleep. Tomorrow, we'll talk."

* * *

_The Vris' hundreds of teeth, pointed and razor-like, protrude out of its mouth, the split, serpent-like tongue slips out. And it lunges at his brother._

"Edmund!" he screams, curling into the corner, hands pressed hard enough onto his ears to hurt his skull. "Edmund!" he screams more loudly. **_"Edmund!"_**

"Peter!" a feminine voice shrieks, growing closer with the echoing steps, but it's all lost in the clicking sound. "Peter, no! You'll hurt yourself!"

He doesn't open his eyes, but he knows, he feels his fingers curled around the metal. He's armed. He has a knife. He has the chance to end it. He can end it! Not the Vri! It would be him! He won't allow the Vri to kill him, too!

"PETER, NO!"

His hands stop abruptly. The knife hovers over his heart, shaking with his hands. He takes some shuddering breaths, and then opens his eyes. "Peter, please, just give it to me, okay? No one's going to hurt you. I promise. Just hand the knife to me. Come on, yes, slowly, there."

And the knife is taken from his trembling hands. He lets it go. He blinks.

The knife is thrown away, out of his reach. The servants flinch once, and then go still. Warm hands cup his face, go over his heart, then steady his body, then back to his face again. Peter doesn't understand. He's taken into a hug. A hug he'd longed for days.

"No one will hurt you, okay?"

And then he's lifted up, two strong arms supporting him. He's made to sit on the bed, his heavy robe is taken off, given to his valet.

"How do you feel?"

Peter only blinks. He doesn't understand!

"Why—why were you trying to—"

This he can answer. "Because I can't let them take me, too. I can't let the Vri—"

"The Vri? Peter—"

"The hideous things. They click. It killed you."

Edmund blinks, as if a new understanding has just dawned on him. "Hush, Peter, I'm fine. I'm alive," Edmund assures and gathers him in his arms again, letting him bury his face into his chest. His chest. The Vris had—

He tries to tell him, but Edmund starts cradling him, telling him to sleep. Lucy's voice says something distantly, and then the lights dim, only the yellow-fiery light shines through the room. "No, no more sedatives," he hears Ed say.

And he falls asleep in his brother's arms.

No dreams haunt him this time.

* * *

Peter hovers above the sounds, listening to them as they echo distantly below him. He doesn't understand at first. But he does eventually.

"Oh, good mice, you can set up the new curtains some other time. Please, the scratch is rather irritating."

"Lucy, it's rude to slam the door shut. And have you brought some of the steak? I think he's hungry."

"Do you remember how he'd sit on the porch with Edmund in his arms, rocking him. And Mum would get angry because she'd worry he'd drop him." A laugh. "Oh, sorry, Lu. You weren't even born then!" A sigh. "I don't know if Ed will ever…"

"I swear I didn't know, Peter! Su and Dracus did. She was hiding in a closet, you see. You were crying, but she was fine. Please, please, know that he didn't mean any harm. Ed didn't mean any harm, Peter. Please. Oh, wake up and tell him! Tell him you forgive him!"

"Do you think it could be Jadis?"  
"Nonsense!"

"You'll get better," he says, "please forgive me, brother. I don't know. I don't know how…"

"Oh, I know, Su! The spider!"

"It was the venom. Oh, thank you, Lu." Shallow steps. "You'll be fine now, Peter. Just fine. Call the healers!"

"Edmund, are you reading to him again?"  
"Yes."  
"Not horror stories!"  
"But it's history! Ancient legend."  
"You better get out, Ed."

"I'm praying. You'll join?"

"Not now, Dracus, I can't leave him."  
"But the court requires your presence, King Edmund. You sisters sent me."  
A sigh. And he took his brother from him again. Again!

"Brother. Brother, please. Brother!"

"For Lucy. For Lucy, wake up!"

And he did. **_"Edmund!"_**

~o~

Peter's eyes fly open, and he gasps. "Hey, hey! You're fine, Peter. _I'm_ fine."

Peter stops struggling against the arms that are wrapped around him, and goes lax again, his erratic breathing now evening out. Peter gazes up at his brother, letting his head drop onto his arm. Ed smiles. "Edmund. Ed, the Vri—"

"No, no," he says, kissing Peter's hair. "They've been dead for centuries, Peter. Jadis brought them to life, made them from the soil, after the hundredth year of Narnia's creation. She thought her army could defeat the Narnians, but she wasn't nearly strong enough. The Tree of Protection still stood strong."

"But, I saw you…"

"Dream. All dreams."

"And you'd fallen from the stairs. The baby. You were…I couldn't…"

"Shh…It was the venom, Peter. Oh, Pete, I'm so sorry! I wanted to scare you. Remember Halloween?" Peter nods. "Well, you see, I had a Marshwiggle act as the ghost, and sing. The dark did the rest for me. You were crying when you thought we lost Susan. And then you fainted. Oh, Peter, we thought—"

"No, wait. Did I—did I hurt you?"

Edmund furrows his brows, gathering his brother up. "You threw me against the wall, yes. But you didn't hurt me. You could never hurt me." He kisses his forehead. "We brought you back to Cair. We thought you'd wake after you've had time to rest. I thought—I thought it was because of me that…But then the healers told us it's something different. They couldn't figure it out. Some in the court said it was Jadis' curse. The Calormenes said I'd poisoned you," he says with a soft chuckle.

Peter blinks. "Calormenes? In Narnia? When?"

Edmund gives his hair a stroke. "Peter, it's been a month."

It takes Peter's brain time to process that. A month? He'd been asleep for _a month?_ "You'd wake up at times," Edmund adds. "Just long enough that we could get some food in you. We didn't think you knew where you were." Edmund visibly stifles a sob. Then he smiles. "Lucy was the one who figured it out. Ten days after you fainted. It was the spider, you see. It was venomous. The healers told us the poison causes hallucinations, paralyzes most of the victim's body, as it slowly kills them. If Lucy hadn't remembered, you'd be dead. It was because of her; we could find a cure. Dracus and I spent days in the library."

Peter gulps; he sits up, making Edmund shoot him a questioning look. He dismisses the thought from his mind, and says, shuddering at the memory, "Will you take off your shirt once, Ed?"

"What?"

"Please. I know it sounds odd. But I just, the Vris had—"

"Oh," Edmund says grimly. He takes off his tunic first, and then unbuttons his shirt, and lets it slide off slowly. _Fooled,_ it reminds Peter. He shakes it off. "See? I'm fine," Edmund assures. Peter smiles at him, sliding his hand where the Vris' hand had been. He isn't hollow. The skin isn't torn and bloody. He's fine. It really _was_ a dream. Edmund then quickly puts on his shirt again, shivering in the cold. He gets up to adjust the coal pieces in the hearth, and then sits on the bed again.

Peter gulps. "What happened then?"

Edmund smiles. "Dracus saved your life."

"I'm sorry?" Peter says blankly, horrified by the mere idea. After what he'd done—

"He took the venom for you," Edmund tells him. "It's not easy to get rid of it. The cure neutralized all the effects but the venom would continue killing you if it wasn't taken out, wasn't given a new host, another Son of Adam. I volunteered, of course. But our sisters told me I was mad if I thought they _or_ you'd let me die. Then Dracus said he'd do it."

Peter, internally wincing at the thought, said, "But he's alive."

"Yes. There are many theories. I think he's immune. Susan says it was because of he was raised in the wild. And Lucy believes it to be Aslan's grace. Ultimately, that's true, doesn't matter how."

The coil in Peter's chest tightens, and he gasps. The guilt attacks him, roping around his heart, squeezing it until it stopped beating. Oh, Aslan. "Pete?"

"Aslan, please. Please forgive me."

"Peter, what—" Peter is already out of bed. "Peter! Peter, you're still weak!" Edmund shouts after him when he stumbles out of the room.

The corridor stretches as he walks barefoot on the soft carpet, wishing the walls would stop spinning. It all looks hazy, especially with the illustrations of the tapestries swimming around and laughing at him. But he stumbles on, limping, though he doesn't need to. The servants try to tell him to go back to his chambers, a faun carrying parcels drops them and rushes to his aid. But he dizzily assures him he's alright. He thinks he sees his sisters coming out of The Great Library, giggling, just as he rushes past the large doors. They confirm his thought, calling after him. But he urges on. Then he stops. Where even is he going? To find Dracus? What would he say to him? That he's sorry he murdered him in a dream? He doesn't know. But he still keeps going. After a while, he finds himself facing a curling flight of stairs, leading up to the fourth and the highest floor. He sighs and drops to the ground. The corridor is small, turned sharply from its neighbor. The two walls are closer than usual, and the carpet beneath him is rougher than he's used to it. Despite it all, he thinks he can fall asleep.

"High King Peter?"

Peter turns to the brown boy. Despite being only a year older than Peter, he looks much more mature. "Dracus." He stands up, swaying.

"You shouldn't out of bed yet."

"No. I—I wanted to thank you. For saving my life," he manages, clapping his friend's shoulder. Then he turns grim, the coil tightening. "And I wanted to apologize for…"

Dracus raises his eyebrows, putting the knife he was taking back to the kitchens on his sword belt. Peter swallows, the words refuse to leave his lips. "I'm sorry for acting the way I did. I was jealous." Dracus opens his mouth to speak, but he continues, "And I'm sorry for—for killing you."

"For _what?_ " two voices echo. Peter smiles to see Edmund appear through the turn. He'd been secretly listening to them.

Peter licks his lips. "In my dream…" he trails off, takes a deep breath and continues, "…I killed Dracus. I…I fed him to the Vris to save us."

"Peter-!" Edmund and his sisters who appear through the turn as well say at once, startling him. But Dracus looks back once, giving them a look, and then turns to him.

"And, why, King Peter, would you apologize for that?"

Peter blinks, staring blankly at Dracus. "Because I killed you! I didn't even flinch when you screamed! I was a monster!" he exclaims, remembering his brother's cruel words. "Because. Because I was jealous!"

"Peter," Lucy says, stepping closer to him, "I didn't mean it like…"

Peter ignores her. "I felt like Ed was replacing me."

"Peter-!" Edmund thunders, but is interrupted by Dracus again.

"Do you feel like that now?"

Peter blinks, glances once at Edmund who nods at him. Then Susan; she gives him a reassuring look. Lucy nods as well. "No. I don't. I—I trust you."

"Then I'll leave you with your siblings," Dracus says, smiling. "And I thank you, all of you, for letting me stay here, in your home."

"It's all of Narnia's home," Susan says.

Dracus looks at his feet. Then glances up. "I ask one last favor of you. If I could borrow a horse to journey home?"

"Home?" Peter asks.

"The Western Mountains," Dracus says. He smiles at Edmund. "Maybe King Edmund will finally decide to tell you how he knows me." With that, he leaves the small corridor, disappearing around the corner.

"Oomph!" Peter exclaims when his brother crashes into him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" he whispers into Peter's shoulder. "You supreme idiot!"

Peter smiles, feeling his sisters' arms close around him, too. He holds them close. "What all have I missed?"

"Edmund almost started a war with Calormen," Lucy says.

He can feel Edmund scowl. "Susan conducted a trial and failed spectacularly! The hare practically dragged me to the Great Hall to help her!"

Susan giggles. "Well, Lucy sparred with Orieus!"

For the first time in a month, Peter laughs. "Tattletales."


End file.
